


Curious

by collectingnames



Series: Clayleb Week 2019 [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: ClayLeb Week 2019, First Meetings, Flirting, Introspection, M/M, but they're both bad at it, caduceus has an insight of fuck you, clayleb week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 19:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21307265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collectingnames/pseuds/collectingnames
Summary: Caduceus meets the Mighty Nein for the first time and notices something about Caleb, the kinds of observations that only strike up his curiosity.-----------------------The man probably thinks he’s being casual, or as casual as someone could be after what they’d been through, but there’s a twinge of fear in his eyes as he offered up his name.  And something about it tells him it’s an alias, his eyes say ‘please don’t notice, please don’t notice.’
Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Caleb Widogast
Series: Clayleb Week 2019 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536146
Comments: 2
Kudos: 118





	Curious

**Author's Note:**

> Caduceus has an insight of 'fuck you.' I have so many other wips but I really like the prompts so here we are.

He listens carefully to their recounting of their fight with the Iron Shepherds. They’re all still battered, but look like they’d had a chance to patch themselves up. He hasn’t quite finished learning their names, he needs another minute to finish putting names to faces. Though he immediately takes note of Caleb Widogast’s. 

The man probably thinks he’s being casual, or as casual as someone could be after what they’d been through, but there’s a twinge of fear in his eyes as he offered up his name. And something about it tells him it’s an alias, his eyes say ‘ _ please don’t notice, please don’t notice _ .’ Compounded with the fact that unlike his friends he doesn’t have anything on him that marked some sort of connection to others. The medallion hanging from Keg’s battleax, while he doesn’t recognize the symbol, looks important, and like a gift. Nila’s necklace of four red feathers is representative of something, he’s sure of it. He doesn’t meet firbolgs outside his family often, but he’s sure it has some sort of familial significance. Beau’s clothes look like a uniform if he has to guess. Not to mention, Nott’s mask is so distinct he’s certain there has to be a story behind it.

So where does that leave Caleb Widogast? Dirt clinging to every part of him, tired-looking, sunken eyes, the kind of man he would let his eyes scan over in Shady Creek Run.  _ Oh _ , that’s why. He doesn’t want to be seen.  _ A shame really, he probably cleans up nice _ , the thought hits him unexpectedly. He shakes it off and continues to listen intently. Though he can guess that his eyes keep drifting towards Caleb Widogast if his increased fidgeting is anything to go by. Or maybe it’s just the graveyard. Probably just the graveyard. Humans especially are put off by graveyards in his experience, though the human inhabitants of Shady Creek Run probably aren’t a good reference point.

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By the time Lorenzo is nothing but a scorch mark on the stone, Caduceus is already settling into this new role. Even with the sinking feeling that he can’t stay with them, he has to keep watch over the Grove. 

He notices Caleb staring at the colorful moss where it creeps up the walls from the still body beneath it, with a sort of awed and thoughtful look. He calls from the other end of the hall, “Mr. Caleb! Need any help over there?”

“Only appreciating your um, handiwork, Herr Clay. A bit, it is a bit gruesome in all honestly but truly impressive,” he breaks off a flake of bright pink moss and holds it up to the light to better observe.

A sense of pride swells in his chest at the compliment, “Thank you, Mr. Caleb.”

“I have studied many magics, I cannot say I have ever encountered this spell before. In-person or in readings. Where did you learn it?” He slips the flake into a component pouch strapped to his thigh.

“Comes with the job, so to speak,” he says with a chuckle.

A seriousness falls over his face, “I should check on the others.”

The distance between them and Caleb’s red hair obscures the blush starting on his cheeks as he turns back the way he came, “Unless you know how to heal I should probably come with you.”

He stops, “Yes, yes, you probably should.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Caduceus lets himself stare at Caleb from the corner of his eye where he sits next to the campfire. The two of them are on watch, though he’d drifted back to the fire to warm up. The rest are all curled up on the ground nearby, sound asleep from an exhausting day of travel.

He shifts his weight onto his other foot, stretches his arms out above his head, “I like your accent.”

Caleb fumbles the components he’d been organizing, “ _ Was _ ?”

“It’s nice. Where’s it from?” He repeats himself.

“The uh, it’s a Zemnian accent,” Caleb’s tongue stumbles over his answer.

"Hm, I don't think anyone from those parts has ever visited the Grove before. I think I would have remembered the accent, it's very distinct."

Caleb takes a long pause, fidgeting again in the corner of his eye, "Thank you for all of your help. I do not think we would have been so successful without you and Ms. Nila."

"Not a problem. Who am I to turn away folks in need of help? Unfortunate that I had to meet all of you under such circumstances but you don't usually meet people under happy ones when you're a grave-keeper." A stiff, chilling gust of wind blows from the North, strong enough to pierce him through his layers and the fuzz coating his skin and make him shiver.

Caleb notices, “You can join me if you’d like. I don’t bite.”

He takes a second to arrange his limbs in a way that’s comfortable and close to the fire without encroaching on Caleb’s space. Caleb starts twisting his scarf in his hands, the thing is so threadbare it’s a wonder he can do that without it just falling apart.

Caleb meets his gaze, the way the firelight hits his eyes make the irises look almost clear, like ice, “You keep staring at me, Herr Clay.”

“Do I?” He replies absentmindedly.

“You aren’t hiding it very well,” he seems cagey in his response.

Caduceus slumps forward a little, propping his chin up on the back of his hand, asks a question he already knows the answer to, “Are you trying  _ not  _ to be seen?”

“No, you just have rather intense eyes, it is easy to tell when you are looking at me,” Caleb turns his head to stare into the fire.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just curious...you’re a curious bunch.”

“And what has you so curious?”

“Not sure yet, I’ll have to get back to you on that one,” Caduceus notices a, not so much a scar, a pockmark at most, under Caleb’s left eye that just barely catches the flickering firelight. He has a cousin with a mark like that, from where she’d fallen and cut her cheek as a small child.

They trade off for the next two to take watch but he just sits on his bedroll.

He doesn’t know who he’s asking when he says only loud enough for himself to hear it. Does he hope that Caleb is awake enough to still hear him? Trying to ask his goddess? Is he just musing to the open air? Hoping to throw it out into the inky darkness beyond their camp where no one can hear him and he can just get it out so it’ll stop rattling around in his head? 

  
“ _ Who are you, Caleb Widogast? _ ”


End file.
